


Right here. Forever.

by onoheiwa



Series: A Kiss is Worth a Thousand Words [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Episode: s04e08 Wishful Thinking, First Kiss, Hell Trauma, Hurt Dean, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, POV Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 13:53:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3413117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onoheiwa/pseuds/onoheiwa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I won't lie anymore. But I'm not gonna talk about it." </p><p>"Dean, look, you can't just shoulder this thing alone, you gotta let me help." </p><p>"How? You really think that a little heart-to-heart, some 'sharing and caring' is gonna change anything?" </p><p> </p><p>Set at the very end of the episode when Dean and Sam are standing on the dock. Dean has finally admitted that he does remember Hell but he isn't going to talk about it. Because all he wants is to forget. The memories aren't going away, but that doesn't mean Dean wants to think about it, to talk about it. He'd rather not dredge it all up in some rom-com reminiscent speech, crying it all out over Sammy's shoulder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right here. Forever.

It had been bothering Dean for weeks - if it could even be called bothering. It was more like a persistent and painful gnawing away at his sanity, a steady scratching against the walls that held him together. He had seen some crap in his life, horrible stuff that no one should ever have to deal with. He couldn't remember what it was like to not have nightmares at least once a week, as much as he might like to pretend otherwise. Things frightened him, Dean could admit it to himself at least, but that didn't keep him from doing the job. People needed saving and that meant going up against some scary shit. 

 

But this was different. Dean had never realized how often the word popped up in his vocabulary until after he had been to the place. Hmm, scratch that, since he made the deal and knew he would be going. Suddenly he had been seeing it everywhere and everyone was saying it all the time to the point he couldn't get away. He just wanted to  _forget_ sometimes. Back  _before_ he just didn't want to think about what was coming, didn't want to spend his last year moping and terrified. Now he just didn't want the reminder. The nightmares plagued him for hours at a time and his mind would flit to the memories whenever he slowed down, whenever he stopped moving. They'd flash across his eyes, sometimes so bad he swore he was back there, swore he could hear the screams and feel the sweat and the blood sliding down his body, splattered across his limbs and face. It still ached, where the hooks had dug into his flesh, like the muscles and tendons were being pulled taught and torn at that very moment. He could smell the fear and the stench of sulfur like a burning in his nostrils, stinging his eyes and coating his body in grime and ash. 

 

Those were the worst times. He'd climb in the shower and scrub and scrub at his flesh, trying to erase the sensations. He'd smear soap on the walls to cover up the smell and use cold water to try and escape the heat. 

 

Dean was starting to think that he understood why people said "like Hell on earth." He was carrying his own personal piece of it everywhere he went and he  _couldn't get away_. 

 

Most of the time he was fine, able to work and drive without any issues, but sleeping was a joke and so was resting. He used to clean all their weapons in silence, taking a break from the chaos of the world and hunting, but now he had to turn the TV on so he didn't have to hear the screaming. And he'd never gotten much sleep before already, especially in the middle of a hunt, but now he couldn't get hardly any at all. Even if he laid in bed for eight hours, most of it was spent twitching and restless, trying to escape the horrors in his mind while keeping his body quiet and still so he didn't wake up Sammy. It was exhausting and how it didn't show on his face was beyond him. 

 

He knew drinking wasn't a solution, knew that Sam was smart enough to notice it, and the nightmares eventually. But he couldn't stop. He couldn't stand the memories and he just needed to forget for awhile, just for awhile. But all it did was make him crave the drink, the escape, more and more, desperately wanting to get away from the smell and the heat and the screams and he couldn't drown himself in alcohol forever. He had to keep it together. He had a job to do and he had to be there for Sam. For Sammy. And he wished his little brother would just let it go, would stop asking, so that he could stop lying and pretending that he was fine. Because every time Sam drilled him for answers it dredged it all up again with a helping of guilt on the side for lying about whether it was bothering him or not. 

 

He was supposed to be the strong one so he had been trying so hard to act like it was all okay, so he didn't have to show Sam how weak he was, so he wouldn't have to talk about it. Because just remembering was bad enough, it made his stomach churn like molten lead, heavy and sickening, while his head pounded and his palms got slick with sweat. If he had to _talk_ about it, think hard enough to try and describe it... Dean thought he might fall apart. He just couldn't handle it. Maybe in a few years when the memories had dulled he could talk a little, but right now it just wasn't possible. He'd made himself sick the first time he seriously considered telling Sam everything, the memories overwhelming him and driving him to his knees. Had thrown up all over the shower floor and knelt there shaking and shivering while the hot water washed away the mess. 

 

So, no. There was no way he was talking about it. But as they wrapped up the latest job, one of the weirdest cases he'd ever come across, Dean decided that he was tired of lying, especially since Sam already knew better anyway. He knew Sam knew so there was no point in trying to hide it, in pretending anymore. That still didn't mean he would talk about it, though, and he'd make damn sure Sam understood that. He was tired of being pushed and prodded about it when all he wanted was to  _forget_. 

 

So as they started to walk back to the Impala to get out of this crazy town, Dean called out to Sam, stopping him. "Hang on a second." 

 

Sam turned to look at him. "What?" 

 

Dean paused, looking around awkwardly. He'd decided what he was going to say, but now he was having trouble getting the words out. He hated admitting he'd been lying, it made him so uncomfortable and guilty for keeping secrets from his brother, always had, despite how often he seemed to do it. "You were right." 

 

Sam looked confused for a moment. "About what?" 

 

"I shouldn't've lied to you. I do remember everything that happened to me in the pit. Everything." 

 

There was a pause as Sam mulled it over and Dean knew what his brother would say as his expression shifted with a slight nod. "So tell me about it." 

 

"No." 

 

Sam's expression turned confused. "Uh-"

 

Dean cut him off before he could start talking, needing to get it all out. "I won't lie anymore. But I'm not gonna talk about it." He knew Sam was gonna fight him about it, but Dean already had his explanation ready, had been thinking about it for days. 

 

"Dean, look, you can't just shoulder this thing alone, you gotta let me help." 

 

Dean felt a touch of warmth spread through his chest, pleased that he was cared about so much, even if he wished sometimes that Sam would just let him be, let him be the strong older brother that he was supposed to be. He almost wished he could open up, could let Sam's strong shoulders carry some of the weight, but that just wasn't gonna work. Not this time. "How? You really think that a little heart-to-heart, some 'sharing and caring' is gonna change anything? Huh? Somehow... heal me?" Dean paused to let the words sink in. "I'm not talking about a bad day here."

 

Sam's eyes had gone sad, dark. "I know that." 

 

Dean tried to speak softly, gently. He didn't want a fight, he just wanted Sam to understand, wanted him to back off just a little and let Dean deal with this in his own way. Wanted him to stop talking about it so Dean could try to stop thinking about it. "The things I saw - there aren't words." There weren't. There was no way to articulate the kind of horrors that had happened in that place. "There is no forgetting. There is no making it better. Because it is right here. Forever." Dean brought his fingers up to tap his head, right where it ached the worst when the memories hit him, where his temple throbbed when he woke up from the nightmares. He gave a shrug, a defeated gesture that bespoke how tired all of this really made him, and how worn out his mind was. "You wouldn't understand. And I could never make you understand. So I'm sorry." And he was. Dean really wished that there was some way Sam could understand, that he could help Dean and make it better, but there was nothing. So he looked up at Sam and pleaded with his eyes, begging his brother to just let it go, to give him time to forget. 

 

Sam looked back, the deep well of emotion that always showed in his eyes brimming with sadness. And then his hands were coming up to frame Dean's face, his palms cupping his brother's jaw, and he leaned forward and pressed their lips together. 

 

It was just a light kiss, hardly any pressure at all, and he was backing away before Dean could react, though he kept holding onto Dean's face, staring him straight in the eye. "You're right. I can't understand. But I don't have to understand to be there for you. Man, you don't even have to actually tell me what happened, what you saw, if you don't want to. I'm sorry I've been pushing you into it. But I am here for you, whatever you need. Even if you never talk about it even once, I'll still be with you, right here. Forever," he said, repeating Dean's earlier words, giving them new meaning.  

 

His face was full of such sincerity, such raw and powerful emotion, that Dean was having a hard time looking back at him. He stood there, trying to process what was happening, to come up with anything to say, for a moment. He didn't entirely understand what Sam was saying, but he thought he might have an idea. It hadn't really occurred to him before, that Sam could help him deal with the pain and the memories even without talking. It wasn't really something they had done before. It was always either keep it to yourself and pretend it's all okay, or talk it out, spilling your guts for all to see. Maybe there was an in-between? A way for Dean to let Sam help that didn't make him sick to his stomach? But what was the kiss about?

 

Before he could say anything Sam spoke up again. "Dean?" 

 

"Yeah, Sam?" 

 

Sam dropped his hands from his brother's face and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, expression shifting and body language going from concerned to casual so fast Dean thought he would get whiplash. "Could we go get some dinner? I'm starving." 

 

Dean had to pause, thrown from the abrupt change in topic, but the question suddenly made him aware of an ache in his stomach, reminding him that he hadn't eaten in a few hours. He was still massively confused about the whole "Sam just kissed me," thing, but he figured he could worry about it later, knowing that Sam would probably bring it up again when he was ready to talk about it. He always did, always talked as soon as he wanted to. Dean shook his head a little to rid it of all presently unnecessary thoughts that didn't pertain to food and nodded with a slight grin. "Yeah, sounds good." 

 


End file.
